It had been nearly a week since James and Dorcas were running away from Death Eaters in the Forbidden Forest. James had grown back his kneecap, and he and Remus both had been released from the Hospital Wing by Sunday morning. Dumbledore had asked us all to refrain from alarming other students with tales of the Death Eater rally, but to remain on guard. At the very least, however, we thought perhaps our great political heroics of the anti-blood-supremacy flavor may have forced an apology or rebuttal in the very publication whose agenda we'd fought against.

Instead, as the Marauders and I gathered together one evening in the Gryffindor common room, we were affronted with the following:

A note to our readers from the interim editor-in-chief of the HOGWARTS POST:

We at the HOGWARTS POST regret to inform our readers that due to the use of illegal charms, our publication has had a change of leadership. We have not and do not condone the use of such charms, and regret any potential harm they could have caused our loyal readers.

Therefore, Augustus Rookwood will no longer contribute to the HOGWARTS POST. In the interim, Severus Snape will take over his duties to keep you, the real witch and wizard, fully informed on the goings-on here at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Yours sincerely and faithfully,

Severus P. Snape

Editor-in-Chief

"Can you believe this rubbish?" asked an irate Sirius, crumpling his copy of the Hogwarts Post between two clawing fists. He threw the balled up zine into the common room fire, where it quickly dissolved into ash and flame.

James frowned. "Did they even mention the protest at all? Or acknowledge the students' petition about the Post's stance on blood supremacy?"

"Not an iota," answered Sirius.

I rolled my eyes. "The 'real news,' my arse! That's just false advertising. How am I to be 'fully informed on the goings-on at Hogwarts' if they won't even report on the biggest story at this school since probably the establishment of the Hippogriff League?"

"Not to be self-important or anything," teased James, nudging me in the shoulder.

I grinned back at him.

"Er, not sure you're their target audience anyway," mused Peter. Noticing our incredulous stares, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat and cleared his throat. "Or any of us," he amended. "You know what I mean."

"Right," said Remus. "Well, there ought to be a publication for ACTUALLY relevant news at the school." He tapped his chin thoughtfully.

Before I could stop myself, I was suddenly blathering, "Remus, you should absolutely start a new zine! And Frank has a whole team of writers just itching to start writing for one!"

Remus regarded me for one long moment, his amber eyes searching mine curiously. "I'm not a leader by any means, Lily," he said finally. "Who would want to take orders from a—a—"

"A Moony?" supplied Peter, unhelpfully.

Remus, nevertheless, snapped his fingers. "Yes, exactly! A Moony! Who would want to take orders from a Moony?"

"Peter, no more talking," I said, feeling my voice sharpen slightly. Lily Evans, Scary Head Girl. "And Remus, don't sell yourself so short. You'd be heading up a team of writers that just need a leader with some vision and a voice. You have all of those things."

"But I won't be available all the time, Lily. What if a story breaks—you know when—and I've to go, erm, visit my ill mum?"

I couldn't argue with that particular concern, so I attempted to minimize its weight, but Remus would not budge.

"I'm not the right fit, Lily. Sorry."

I sighed. "If you're sure. I just want you to know that I think you'd be very successful."

Remus smiled and nodded in gratitude. "I appreciate that."

"You're very talented. Observant. Kind. Purposeful. I think it is the right fit."

"Perhaps in another life," Remus shrugged sadly.

I opened my mouth to attempt another round at persuasion, but was interrupted.

"Unsatisfactory, Moony. There's got to be something we can do, even if it's nothing to do with heading up an entire school zine."

Remus and I both looked up, startled, to see Sirius Black marching over to Frank Longbottom on the other side of the common room, exchanging a few words and an enthusiastic handshake.

"What in Merlin's arse?" muttered James under his breath just as Sirius began gesticulating wildly with his whole body. Frank responded just as bizarrely. They were like two bowtruckles communicating the location of the nearest wand wood tree through dance, only somehow with more limbs.

"Sshh," hissed Remus, who was craning his neck to try and listen in on his boyfriend's mysteriously motown conversation with Frank.

Finally, Sirius returned to the four of us around the fire, lip between his teeth. "Longbottom and I have had some words."

James cocked his head to the side. "Care to elaborate, old boy?"

"We have agreed that although we find each other annoying, we have a common enemy." When we didn't respond (I, for one, had been hoping he might explain the piece of dance theater he and Frank had just provided the rest of us), Sirius sighed dramatically. "It's Snivellus, for Wormtail's sake, keep up!"

Peter cracked a grin at that.

"What are you thinking, Sirius?" asked Remus with a mischievous edge to his voice. He closed the book in his lap and stared up at Sirius expectantly.

"First things first!" said Sirius, pointing at James. "Marauders' Honor!"

James put his hands up, defensively. "I'm Head Boy, not an Auror."

Sirius shifted his accusatory finger at me, so I tipped an imaginary hat at him and said in a terrible French accent, "Monsieur, I do believe you 'ave kept us waiting for far too long."

The bad accent seemed to do it, as his lips curled just enough to reveal he was holding back a laugh. He relaxed his arm and shot a glance at Frank over his shoulder. "I thank you in advance for your discretion, lads and Lily, because as it stands, neither Longbottom nor I have sorted out the particulars, but when we do—you've already pledged yourselves, and don't you forget it!"

We all sighed disappointedly and lounged back into our couch cushions.

"What even was the point of all of that?" asked Peter, who had disappeared beneath a yellow velvet blanket.

"To whet your appetites for inevitable mayhem, of course," replied Sirius as he perched himself on a nearby end table that was far too short to be comfortable, but he somehow managed to still make it look cool.

"Maybe you could start by telling Frank to face up to his fears and start another zine?" I suggested hopefully.

Sirius smiled mysteriously, appearing like some gothic gargoyle from the end table. "All in due time, Evans."

I sighed in exasperation. Just when I thought Sirius and I could be co-conspirators…

"Speaking of time, I've got to be off." James nodded over at the ten-handed clock whirring by the portrait hole. "Practice starts soon and I've got to set up the pitch." He fixed Sirius a stern look. "Stop mucking about or you'll be late, Black."

Still sporting a spectacular grin, Sirius rolled his grey eyes and somehow seemed to increase his gargoyling by about a thousand percent. "Aye-aye, Cap," he sang whimsically.

James dropped a kiss on my cheek, and whispered, "Later, love," into my ear before exiting amongst a flourish of wolf-whistles from the Marauders and a group of nearby fifth-year boys.

Honestly!

"Alright everyone, we've got a little more than a week before our first scrimmage, so let's be sure we're all in tip-top form!"

Jen was leading our Hippogriff practice from the sidelines while I joined the team in the air. Our kits had been charmed with extra-strength Warming Charms courtesy of Abed, who claimed he was practically allergic to the cold, and had developed almost angry magic against it. We were as toasty as marshmallows over a fire.

Nevertheless, he groaned at the first sight of snowflakes in the air. "Bugger almighty," he said. "I hate winter."

"Oh, come on, mate!" said Fabian from his broom below. "Look on the bright side!"

Abed sighed. "And what's that, exactly?" A snowflake landed on his forehead and he shook his head about madly in disgust. "Get off!"

We all laughed at his antics, which only seemed to sour his mood even further.

"Still waiting to hear about this so-called 'bright-side,'" he grumbled.

Fabian bobbed up next to him and slung an arm around his shoulder. "The cold forces people together," he said, giving him a squeeze. "For warmth."

"I fail to see how that's a selling point," replied Abed, although I noticed he didn't exactly shrug off Fabian's arm, either.

"Seems to me that avoiding the cold has made you a bit of a Warming Charm expert," Harriet mused, coming up to Abed's other side. "I wouldn't have believed that it was below zero out here if I'd been absolutely blindfolded."

Abed smiled at her. "You're welcome."

Gideon burst up in front of the trio, laughing gleefully as they scattered in all directions to avoid a midair collision, which thoroughly disrupted our practice.

"Oi, alright, Prewett, enough of that, thanks!" I shouted. "We don't have much more time on the pitch; the Neckbreakers have got it in half an hour."

"Sorry, Cap," said Gideon, and by the grimace on his face, I could tell he meant it.

"That's an extra lap for you!" called Jen from the green.

Gideon slumped over his broom and zoomed as fast as he could around the perimeter of the pitch.

We all touched ground as we completed our airtime warm-ups. Jen got us to play catch with acorn-sized spheres that were practically invisible in order to improve our hand-eye coordination.

"Nothing worse than getting disqualified from a round because of a hand-off gone wrong," she announced as she circled us, clipboard in hand. "Lily, you need to work on catching with your left hand, please. In fact, all of you, switch to your non-dominant hands!"

A collective groan filled the air, with the exception of Caradoc, who had clapped his hands together in delight.

"Oh, I'm sorry," began Jen in a tone that conveyed she was definitely not sorry in the least, "do you want to lose because a Bludger's destroyed the bones in your dominant hand and you haven't practiced how to successfully chuck a Snitch at your teammate with the other one? Hmm?"

I rolled my eyes. "Obviously not, Jen."

"That's what I thought," she said and tutted, moving on to inspect Harriet and the Doc.

I'd been paired with Fabian, who kept glancing at Abed and Gideon from out of the corner of his eye. "Something pique your fancy over there, Fae?" I asked in a conspiratorial whisper.

Fabian wriggled his eyebrows. "Gids is left-handed, see? So they're both catching and throwing on the same side."

Indeed, his twin brother and our resident Warming Charm expert were playing catch with mirroring arms. But I didn't see why it would be so distracting.

"Yeah, they are," I said, not really knowing what else to say.

"Two sickles they're the first to drop their ball," he said, and finally, I understood why he'd been so fascinated by them before.

"You're on!" I answered through a grin.

We worked on tossing our spheres at each other with our non-dominant hands, sneaking peaks at Gideon and Abed, who were annoyingly decent at the task, with only one or two fumbles, but no full-on drops.

"Alright, let's liven things up, team: one step back from both partners with every successful toss!" called Jen.

"Finally," I muttered, tossing my sphere to Fabian.

He caught it, so we both stepped back.

"Three laps if you drop a stone, Falcons!" Jen shouted.

I glanced over at Gideon and Abed to check on their progress—they'd also each taken a step back. I looked back at Fabian, and we exchanged a raise of the eyebrows. He lifted his arm to toss the sphere back at me, but for some reason, I felt compelled to look back at his brother and my favorite seventh year Slytherin boy.

Gideon's throw made an almost imperceptible arc through the snowy sky before Abed caught it easily in his left hand. A sense of pride for them filled me and warmed me to the bone; they were so easy in their camaraderie, so successful in their athleticism—they'd both come so far since we started training a month ago. And here they were, the pair of them, working like synchronized clock pieces to catch and throw invisible stones at each other.

Transfixed perhaps by the sight of the sphere arcing through the snowflakes, or the ease with which Abed had caught it, I'd been just distracted enough to receive one of the most stupid peltings to the head I could have ever imagined.

Fabian had barely gasped, "Lily!" before everything went black.

I was warm. Very, very warm. I might have believed I'd been stuck in an oven, except that I felt the weight of several blankets over my person, and I thought that certainly, if I were in an oven, I wouldn't have so many blankets with me.

I was so warm that it was verging on uncomfortable. I had a vague inkling that I should do something about it before it pressed in on all sides and woke me completely.

I just needed to stick out my leg from under the blankets.

Leg?

Leg, where are you?

I couldn't find my leg. Maybe I'm legless?

Maybe I didn't have any legs.

Is that why I was so warm?

I felt my toes wriggle.

No, found a foot. Must still have legs, I thought.

I managed to stick out my leg slightly from beneath the weight of a blanket. The cool air against my bare ankle made all the difference and I felt immediate relief.

I had a sudden epiphany: Legs = cold. No legs = too warm.

I am Lily Evans, Cool and Decidedly Not Legless.

What a revelation! Lily Evans, Girl Genius.

"I can't believe you concussed the Captain, Fae," said a familiar voice, only I couldn't quite place it.

"Shut up! I know! I feel terrible!"

I heard a scuttling and a few high-pitched shooing sounds, and then silence.

Legs are useful climate control, I mused. Must tell the world. It is my destiny.

The warmth stopped its pressing in on me and I faded back into lovely unconsciousness.

Pomfrey released me from the Hospital Wing early the next morning, whinging on about student athletes trying to off themselves midair. I had half a mind to agree with her, but I'd been knocked out from a simple game of catch with an apophyllite stone, whose properties, Madam Pomfrey had explained, can amplify the effects of any existing charmwork. In my case, the culprit had been Abed's angry Warming Charm, which explained my mid-concussion delirium involving warm blankets and losing my legs?

Apparently my destiny was to tell the world that legs are useful climate control, which in my sober and sane state made absolutely no sense to me whatsoever.

But on to more pressing matters!

We only had one practice left before our friendly, and I was in full-on Captain Panic Mode. Not that anyone else cared about that particular fact. Oh nooo, Merlin forbid my fellow Hippogriff enthusiasts focus on anything other than the latest batch of Hippogriff gossip!

What could possibly be so fascinating that my teensy tiny, almost fatal brush with apophyllite stone was considered—quite literally—yesterday's news?

DORCAS.

If I could sigh a million sighs in one breath, I'd do it.

Dorcas Meadowes had officially quit the Twenty-Eights and was on the lookout for a new Hippogriff team. Apparently, she actually wanted to play in the league.

Of course, all the other teams were full, and neither were too keen on getting "political," as Hannibal McCloud put it.

Except, that is, for the Millennium Falcons, who were all about politics.

"It just makes sense that you'd give her a try-out," said Frank Longbottom, who had somehow commandeered my usual route to the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. "At the very least."

I had no idea if Dorcas had told Dumbledore about her own experience with the Death Eaters last week, but it seemed as though she had definitely made up her mind about associating with them.

(In that she clearly did not want to associate with them at all. Again, cue a million sighs.)

"In all honesty, Frank, I don't see why you're so interested in the fate of Dorcas's Hippogriff career."

Frank blushed. "It—it would make a good story."

"A good story? For who?" I stared at him in surprise. "Don't tell me you're writing for the Post again! Not with Sev as editor!"

He searched my face before nodding. He checked his wristwatch. "Right, since we still have ten minutes before class, I'll tell you. But as this is still a work in progress, I must ask you to keep it to yourself so as not to disrupt our process."

My eyes widened, a smile slowly spreading across my face. "Frank. Are you and Sirius starting another zine?"

Frank scratched his ear, his baby blue eyes trailing up to meet mine uncertainly. "Er, maybe?"

"Oh, thank Merlin!" I said, and I clapped him into a short, congratulatory hug. "We need you, Frank. Hogwarts needs you and your point of view."

"Well, that's the thing, Evans," he began, righting his robes. "I don't know what my point of view is, but I think this thing with Dorcas—it could open up a new place of observation. It's sports-related, which I'm comfortable with, but it will need some political commentary. That's where Black comes in. Of course, this story only works if you consider her for your team. Personally, I think it's a perfect match. Er—no pun intended."

I sighed. On paper, he was right.

Dorcas would be the missing Ravenclaw in our set of House pairs. But it wasn't as though our team really needed a third standby flyer. At least, not that I could foresee.

Foresee…

I vaguely remembered Sruthi saying something about Dorcas during our plot to steal away copies of the Hogwarts Post a few weeks ago.

Maybe Frank was onto something.

"I appreciate your opinion on the matter, Frank, but if Dorcas wants a tryout, she'll need to ask for one."

Frank beamed. "So you'd be open to giving her a try-out?"

I shrugged. "Like I said, she has to ask."

He nodded, rubbing away at the five o'clock shadow on his cheek. "Brilliant."

"You know, a journalist isn't supposed to conjure a story. They're just supposed to inform their audience about what's happening."

Frank laughed a deep, throaty laugh that made me feel as though perhaps I'd just said something very wrong. "Tell that to Snape."

He walked away, chuckling and shaking his head to himself, and left me alone to wander back towards the DADA rooms. I hoped Professor Leon wouldn't single me out for being late!

As I entered the Great Hall for lunch, a large stack of parchment pressed between an even more impressive mountain of defensive magic textbooks, someone hit my ankle with a Stinging Jinx, and I pitched down toward the stone floor like a felled maple.

"What in—aaaarrrghhh!" was all I had time to say before the impact. My books scattered across the flagstone in exquisite chaos, my painstakingly organized notes fluttered up and around me in a cloud of taunting disappointment, and I'd scraped the bottom of my chin on the edge of the threshold.

Just call me Lily Evans, Girl Hazard Recently Promoted to Floormat, and Overall Magnet for Trouble.

The unmistakable crazed laughter that could only emanate from one, Bellatrix Black, was the worst of the fallout as it echoed through the Great Hall in a piercing, humiliating howl. And as though she were the leader of a wolf pack, it was mere seconds before her followers joined her.

Thankfully, I've made it a point to surround myself with caring, savior complex types, who all immediately did their part to pull me up on my feet, gather my books and loose leaves of parchment, and with an unrivaled level of concern, shoot several "Episkey!" charms at my face.

"Lily, are you alright?" asked Jen. "Good Godric, first the apophyllite, and now you're tripping over air!"

"Nah, I don't reckon our Lily's that clumsy," opined Marlene.

"Gee, thanks, Marls," I said.

"Did someone knock you over?" asked Mary, digging through her bag distractedly.

"No, it was a Stinging Jinx right to the ankle. Was someone dueling in the Entrance Hall? I didn't get a chance to see."

Jen made an alarmed noise and she pulled me toward Gryffindor Table.

"Found it!" Mary pushed her tin of healing salve in my face, a satisfactory grin pulling at her mouth.

"The three Healing Charms weren't enough?" I asked, touching my chin worriedly. It felt fine enough to my fingertips, and it didn't hurt at all.

"It's for your lip, silly," answered Mary. "It's bleeding."

I sighed. "Perfect," I deadpanned. "I mean, thank you."

She nodded and sat across from me, choosing a large pastrami sandwich and covering it with gravy, while I applied the healing salve to my lips and waited for the telltale magical tingling on my skin before I could eat.

"I've a feeling as your friendly match gets closer, you're going to be the victim of similar or worse abuse, Lily," said Jen. She tapped her wand on my massive pile of books and papers and Shrank them down to a more portable size. "You may want to be a bit more vigilant."

Marlene waved her off. "Ah, it's just part of the game is all."

As if on cue, Fabian approached us with an urgent look on his face. "Cap! You alright? Pomfrey said you'd been mended, but Gids says he just saw you go arse over tit in the entryway!"

"Those weren't my exact words," said Gideon, placing an enormous hand on Fabian's shoulder.

"You owe me two sickles, Fae," I said, staring down Fabian until he cracked a smile.

"Fair enough, Cap, fair enough. But then you owe the team three laps for failing to catch a stone."

Before I could answer properly, someone from the Hufflepuff table called, "Oi, Evans!" and I made the mistake of actually turning toward it.

It was Hannibal McCloud, smirking as though he were just bursting with the best punchline to a joke wizardkind had ever heard. "Here's a tip," he said. "The Wronski Defensive Feint only works if you miss the ground."

Those within earshot burst into laughter, and he grinned like the mirth king of a small hyena army.

"Otherwise it's just called a faceplant."

His condescension made me want to send several jinxes in his direction, but as I am Lily Evans, Head Girl and Queen of Calm, I abstained.

Instead, I rolled my eyes at him. "Clever. You should write for The Post. Maybe then you'll actually get a feature."

That wiped the smirk off his face. He went almost purple before turning his back to me in annoyance. Honestly, his vanity and ego are so sensitive.

"Lily!" hissed Jen in warning. "Stop antagonizing McCloud!"

"Sorry, Jen," I answered loudly enough for McCloud to hear. "But haven't you heard? I'm the Wronski Warrior, which means—"

"SHE'LL DESTROY YA!" chorused Marlene, the Prewetts, and surrounding Gryffindors.

I burst into laughter, giddy with their support.

Jen merely narrowed her eyes at me.

"Oh, relax, Jen! It's all part of the game. Right, Marls?"

"Absolutely!" As though to emphasize her point, Marlene took a large swig of pumpkin juice and slammed her goblet on the table.

The Prewett twins sat down with us for lunch, a toad in the hole for each with massive amounts of onion gravy and mash.

As I served myself some mystery bubble and squeak, Caradoc sat himself next to the twins, dreadlocks swinging behind his shoulders, and said, "Captain, Prewetts, greetings!"

"Hey, Doc!" I said. "What brings you here?"

The Doc grabbed a roast beef sandwich. It seemed he was also settling in for lunch. "I saw Alexander Nott aim a Stinging Jinx at you as you walked into the Great Hall. I told him magic in the corridors was strictly forbidden and that I was going to report it to his Head of House. Professor Snape gave him a detention. Once I saw the twins here, I thought I should also lend myself to their show of solidarity. Are you alright, Captain?"

I had honestly never felt so touched before in my life, and found myself unable to answer due to the giant frog currently inhabiting my throat.

Gideon smiled over at me and said, "I reckon the Cap's better than ever, Doc."

"I think you're right, Gids," said the voice of Harriet. She and Abed sat across from the twins and next to Mary.

"Excellent," answered Caradoc, and he proceeded to eat in silence.

Mary's eyes grew to the size of her dinner plate as she stared at the two Slytherins beside her. "Er," she said awkwardly.

"You know, I've always wanted to get my hair to do that," Harriet said, gesturing at Mary's feathered hair. "You got a spell for it or something?"

Immediately, Mary relaxed and launched into her entire hair routine. To my surprise, Harriet looked genuinely interested.

Abed caught my eye and he grimaced. "I overheard Black, by the way. She's planning something—something nefarious for the friendly. Thought you should know."

Jen slapped the wooden surface of the table. "You see? You need to be more careful, Lily, or your constant gloating is going to get you in trouble!"

I pouted, the frog suddenly gone from my throat. "I do not gloat!"

Jen blinked at me. "Really." It wasn't a question.

"Much," I added. "It's not that big of a deal. I've always been Black's target—a Hippogriff match isn't going to change that."

"No, but it does give her opportunity, especially if she can hide behind the general chaos of a Hippogriff match."

"I'll be fine," I said.

Jen stared at me for a long moment. "Maybe you should sit this one out? Wait until you're fully recovered from the apophyllite incident?"

"What?! Pomfrey said you were back to normal!" Fabian exclaimed in sudden panic.

I turned to Fabian. "I am back to normal," I said. "Really. Jen is just being paranoid. Black could be up to anything, it doesn't necessarily have to do with me."

Jen counted off with her fingers. "Abed's saying she's planning something nefarious, you're her biggest rival, you have a Hippogriff friendly coming up, and I doubt Black is going to be anything nearing the vicinity of 'friendly.'"

Marlene snorted. "You make it sound like Black fancies her."

Jen threw her hands up and shrugged. "She might!"

There was a general uproar at that, and I had to calm everyone down. "Alright, enough. The only thing we can do at this point is prepare for the worst and train hard tomorrow night. How are we doing on the magical signature research, Doc?"

Caradoc pushed his bright orange glasses up the bridge of his nose and folded his hands together. "Harriet and I have been in touch with her broom maker, and after we proved we were students and uninterested in selling her trade secrets, she's agreed to get back to us."

"Get back to us?" I parroted.

"Yes."

Jen groaned. "So a dead-end, then. A great big pile of nothing."

Caradoc frowned. "No! She said she'd—"

"Get back to us," Jen cut him off. "Yes, I heard. But that basically means she's buying time to come up with some other excuse to put us off the trail. Otherwise, she would have already told you something by now."

"Well, that's not very sporting." Caradoc seemed genuinely troubled by this reinterpretation of events.

"Just let us know if she ever does get back to you," I said. "In the meantime, perhaps we can try a broom registry with the school?"

"That may be something the Head Boy and Girl and bring to the Heads of Houses and the Headmaster for approval!" Jen exclaimed.

Oh no. I could see it coming ten thousand miles away. Any second now, and she'd be uttering the phrase, "proper channels," get overexcited, and head over to the library to look up the exact procedures for starting a broom registry.

"As long as you go through the proper channels, I don't see why we couldn't get this done immediately!" She then pocketed an egg salad sandwich and excused herself to the library.

Predictable as ever, that one.

As I chewed over the mystery veg in my bubble and squeak, I vaguely wondered where the Marauders were. In fact, none of the seventh year Gryffindor boys were anywhere to be found.

"Should I eat another sandwich or wait until dinner to stuff my face so I don't get sick all over the pitch during OFD?" mused Marlene beside me.

Just as Mary said, "Ew, gross, Marlene!" Gideon egged her on with a shit-eating, "Definitely eat another sandwich!"

Marlene laughed. "You're alright, Prewett."

She served herself a sandwich and started doing her disco arms while humming some Donna Summer tune. It wasn't very long before we all joined in, laughing like silly little disco loons, a mixed-House gaggle of musically-challenged clowns at the Gryffindor table.

Then, she froze suddenly, her eyes nearly falling out of her head as she caught a glimpse of something behind me.

Curious, I turned and followed her gaze.

It was Dorcas.

The sound of a million sighs whirred in my brain.

"Er, Lily?" She looked nervous, her hands fidgeting with the ends of her short brown hair. "I know I don't deserve it, but if you have a minute, do you think we could talk?"

"Okay."

She just stared at me.

"Would you like to sit down?"

She blinked. "Oh, I thought maybe we could speak in private?"

"Angling for a try-out, eh, Meadowes?" asked Marlene. "We've all heard the rumors about you quitting the Twenty-Eights. No need to be shy about it."

Dorcas blushed. "That's not what I—that is, of course I'd love to try—"

Marls cut her off. "Excellent! Well, Lily? What do you say?"

I stared back at her, then back at Dorcas, then back at the team. "What do we think, Falcons? Shall we give Dorcas a chance?"

"Can you fly?" asked Abed.

"Have you made a name for yourself?" asked Fabian. "Famously or otherwise?"

Harriet rolled her eyes. "Do you want to be on our team?"

"Are you up for an experiment?" asked Caradoc.

Gideon grinned. "Are you up for a laugh?"

Dorcas looked flummoxed, lost. "Erm."

I raised a single eyebrow at her. "Are you willing to fight for a cause?"

She didn't miss a beat. "Yes."

I smiled. "Good. We have OFD in a few minutes. How about you give us a try-out then?"

Mary frowned. "Lily, isn't that against the rules?"

"Not technically," answered Dorcas. "It isn't a game of Hippogriff, just a try-out for a Hippogriff team."

Marlene sniggered. "That's hilarious! You sound just like Jen! Thank Merlin she's gone off to the library or she'd sue you for identity theft, probably."

Dorcas blushed again.

"So we'll see you on the pitch?" I said.

She opened her mouth to say something, then closed it as though changing her mind, and merely nodded.

"Jen's going to have a fit," said Mary as we watched Dorcas walk away.

We all nodded solemnly.

Jen was going to kill me, probably, if not with a spell or with her bare hands, then with some very cutting turns of phrase.

But there was just something about Dorcas, something that merited a second look. Besides, our team was supposed to stand for something good, and surely, forgiveness was a good thing.

I hoped Jen could see that because we only had a few more minutes of lunch before Operation Fire Dragon and the try-out. It wasn't much time to convince her as much.

I cleared my throat "Well, then a toast. Jen may skin us alive for agreeing to give her arch nemesis a try-out, but we, the Millennium Falcons have spoken, and for the time being, we're all still alive.

"To being alive!" I exclaimed, raising my goblet of pumpkin juice.

The Millennium Falcons raised their own goblets, half-laughing, half-serious, and cheered. "To being alive!" they chorused, and we all took hearty swigs.

Marlene scoffed. "For now."

A/N: Remember when I said that I'd have more time to write now that I've graduated? Well, it turns out I severely underestimated real life. Never fear, dear readers! I didn't abandon this story! There's still so much to tell, so I hope that you haven't abandoned it, either. :) Read, review, follow, and support your local fic writer!